


A Matter of Preference

by usabuns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Heith - Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, No season 2 spoilers, after "The Belly of the Weblum" but before "Best Laid Plans"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 02:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10265645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usabuns/pseuds/usabuns
Summary: Just because Hunk and Keith like different things doesn't mean they won't help each other out once in a while.A difference in taste also doesn't mean they can't find each other irresistibly cute.For the prompt: "Coffee | Tea"





	

It's an early morning after his usual work-out regimen when Keith resigns himself to sauntering into the kitchen, hands jammed into his pockets and a fresh, white towel hanging loosely around his neck. He whistles as he walks, eyes closed pleasantly, until he steps over the threshold. His jacket's tied around his waist and occasionally tangles itself around knobs and handles as he swiftly weaves around; a hand wipes at his sweat-glazed forehead before Keith reaches into the highest cupboard and pulls out a glossy, coal black kettle with pearly white leaf designs etched into the ceramic. 

_Now_ , Keith was by no means a culinary expert, but he knew enough to get around; the bare basics of cooking had been instilled within him during his time by himself in the desert — strictly simple meals. Usually it was oatmeal, or grilled cheese, or even just plain eggs and bacon, but the one thing Keith was the most proud of knowing how to create was, of course, tea. _Ginger, black, chamomile, lemon_... He knew which spices went perfectly with each, what meal they should be prepared with, what time of day they should be sipped at. That was his _true_ area of expertise in the art of cooking, if one could call it so. 

After all, he'd found his little shack to chocked full of different tea bags for some reason, so he'd had no choice but to at least try drinking them. He'd grown quite fond of their tastes, and the process of making them. 

So when Allura had dug up the Altean equivalent of their hot Earth beverage... Well, it was just a matter of time before Keith dove into it head first. 

It's with delicate precision that he lifts the lid and sets it aside atop the counter, then spills through the top a bag full of vibrant violet and saffron colored leaves that had been dangling in his other hand. He'd had them previously, a few days ago; they tasted similar to green tea and spearmint, with just a little vanilla added to the mixture. _Xekremine_ , Coran had called it. Keith swings the towel off his neck and dries his clammy palms off; he sets it on the back of the nearest chair and makes a beeline for the sink. The faucet turns and water spills out at a refreshing pace into the kettle, and he waits for half a minute until it fills adequately enough. 

Keith's about to flick the stove on when the quiet noise of distant footfall tickles his ears. He makes something not unlike the sound of a query or of surprise, and places the kettle over one of the electric stove-top plates and heats it up, still consciously aware of whoever's approaching. 

The footsteps are heavy, but quick, almost urgent; they seem to be _rushed_ — perhaps their owner is desperate to arrive at their destination. Keith freezes for just a second, but ultimately continues with his work. He's hyper-aware of his surroundings now, even as his hands move fluidly and meticulously by memory alone. 

A soft, sharp gasp comes from the direction of the doorway, and Keith whips his head around. "Oh, um— _Hey_ , Keith," Hunk stutters out, a smile forming on his cheeks. It's clear that he wasn't expecting to see anyone in the kitchen this early — but he's trying to play it off. 

"Ah— Hey, Hunk," Keith says, giving a slight wave of his hand. He turns back to the stove just as his face flushes a bit, changing to an even lighter shade of apricot. "I'm surprised to see you up — you usually sleep in late." 

Hunk shrugs, leaning against the counter opposite the stove and behind Keith. "Well — _you know_." He sighs a long, heavy yawn. Keith twists his upper body around and arches an eyebrow at him, so he continues his explanation, "I— I haven't really slept. I've been, uh, working with Pidge all night in her hangar." 

Keith nods, and lowers the heat. "Mmm." A prolonged moment of silence comes to pass, in which Keith hears Hunk shuffling about the drawers, and then he moves to the fridge and cupboards where Keith can see him clearly. The towel, once slung over Keith's shoulders, is grabbed by his hands during this period, and he uses it to clean his palms and the few crumbs of tea leaves that had slipped out onto the countertop. 

They make eye contact when Keith looks up from the kettle; Hunk scratches the back of his neck, and grins again. 

"So, yeah, I kinda just came in here to grab a few things— So don't worry, I'll be outta your hair soon—" 

"—I, uh, I don't really mind how long you stay, Hunk." Keith is as surprised by his statement as Hunk is. "Really, you're no bother." He lifts up the dark lid, and inside the tea's begun to climb to the beginnings of a slow boil. 

Hunk blinks a couple times, and Keith doesn't make eye contact again — he only stares downward to the stovetop, with an indifferent look upon his lips. So Hunk steps forward, across the counters and opposite from Keith, and folds his arms. "Is that— That's _tea_ , isn't it?" 

Keith nods, slowly, as he raises his head. Hunk chuckles lightly. 

" _What_?" Keith questions, creasing his brows and giving a little frown. He discards the towel so it's hanging off a drawer handle; he crosses his arms defensively when he draws them back. 

"Nothing, Keith," Hunk says, but it obviously is something. "It's nothing—" He leans over and grabs the lid to inspect the bubbling water, and before Keith can protest, Hunk's already rambling, "—I dunno, it's just, you never really seemed like a tea person to me." 

Keith raises his voice, which is bitter and tense, "So _that's_ it, huh?" His lips form a pout and Hunk offers him a goofy smile as he places the lid back atop the black kettle. "How can you even— What does that even _mean_?" He is utterly baffled. 

Hunk puts his palms on either side of the stovetop, and leans forward, so their faces are only about a foot apart. The kettle is blowing now, making a high-pitched, soft screeching. "Ah, well, I guess it's sort of like— It's like, I didn't think you'd drink tea, is all." He sounds strangely nonchalant, though Keith still can't help but notice the tint of red tickling his cheeks. 

Keith rolls his eyes. " _Whatever_. That whole line of thinking is pretty stupid, Hunk," he says, and Hunk's already got a hand cupping his chin and is steadily walking around the long counter so he's next to Keith. "...Hunk—?" 

"Oh, uh—" He's snapped out of his thinking, and proceeds to rustle through the drawers next to the silverware. "When I opened it up, it smelled like mint. Like something fresh," he says, as he points to the kettle. Hunk continues rummaging through low cupboards, "So I figured, hey— There's this really sweet spice in here that'd go nicely with spearmint—" 

"— _Oh_ , you don't think I can handle this, is that it?" 

Hunk sighs. "No, it's more like... A suggestion?" He sounds unsure of his wording. "Listen, it looks to me like you've made this before, yeah?" Keith nods, again, but doesn't say anything in response. Hunk stands up from his bent-over position, a plastic bag of thin, mustard-colored leaves dangling from his fist. "So— Think of this as a little experiment. I'll put this stuff in, and you can decide if it's better than the _boring_ stuff you made before." 

Keith opens his mouth, about to fire off an angry retort, when Hunk already sprinkles a few of the leaves into the pot. He creases his eyebrows and playfully socks Hunk in the arm. "You'll thank me later, once you taste it," Hunk says with a wink. Keith just shakes his head. 

"Maybe." He tightens the jacket that's still strung around his waist, and fans his collar. The kitchen is beginning to heat up a tad from brewing tea — then again, it might just be his close proximity to it — and Keith honestly wants nothing more than to just shut the damn stove off and drink the stupid tea already. 

But, it could also be the fact that he's so close to _Hunk_ — he won't admit it, but there's something about him that makes his face get all warm and flustered. 

"—I-I think it's about done," Keith stutters, gruffly, with bright red cheeks. His fingers fumble with the dial, but soon enough it's turned and the electric stovetop flares back down. The kettle is grasped by its handle, and set down on top of the counter; Keith's gloved hand pours the liquid into a small, white metal cup with a glowing teal rim. 

Now, Hunk is leaning upon the countertop on the other side of the stove, with his other hand on his hip. "You know— That _does_ smell pretty good, actually. Better than just the plain mint. I'd try some, but, to be honest, I'm more of a _coffee person_." His words hang in the air, and Keith's eyes widen; he almost drops the kettle. Hunk is smiling to himself, — Keith can see that from his peripherals — but Keith doesn't turn to look at him just yet. 

Through the open door, and down the hallway, Pidge's voice shouts for Hunk, and then yells his name a few more times for emphasis, and he jumps up, scrambling for the fridge. "Ah, shit— I totally forgot," he grumbles, giving Keith a weird look that he can't quite place. Hunk grabs what he needs, laying the food and drink items in his arms, and promptly bolts for the door. "I'll see you later, Keith." 

And Keith smirks, as he lifts the cup up to drink, because those six words — _"I'm more of a coffee person."_ — are a declaration of war. 

It is a war that Keith fully intends to win. 

**+**

The time is what his body says is the middle of the afternoon — somewhere around three or four, though Hunk's not quite certain about that estimate; he's been up for at least 18 hours already, and bordering on exhaustion, so it's probably _much_ earlier in the day. 

He's busy at work, as usual, polishing up his lion and completing whatever maintenance tasks the castleship needs upon Allura or Coran's request. It's one of those days where he's restless and slightly irritable, and where it feels as if he's continually working without a break. Ironically, though, performing these tasks is one of the few things that can bring his anxiety down, even if he did tend to run himself into the ground often. 

It's a win-lose situation, in more ways than one. 

After ten quick minutes of repairing Lance's broken bayard, — he wouldn't reveal to him exactly _how_ it had ended up in disrepair, but Hunk _strongly_ suspected it had something to do with Pidge and Keith — Hunk's surprised that no one else has come crashing through the door to the yellow lion's hangar again, with a new problem to be solved. He had hoped to have had more machinery to occupy himself with, since Allura had elected to give the team an "off-day" today, but there seemed to be no such luck at this particular hour. 

With the laser gun fully fixed, Hunk reverts it to its smaller, original form as a gripped bayard and pushes it aside to the other end of his worktable, allowing ample space for more projects. He scratches at his forearms, and narrows his brows. 

The quiet is unnerving on such a busy day. Especially since Lance isn't barging in all the time — most likely preoccupied with the Earth video game console Hunk and Pidge had managed to get working on the ship's main computer system the other night. 

Was that perhaps a contributing factor to his current agitation? Again, Hunk concluded this to be true, in some form or another; he couldn't remember when he'd last gotten a socially acceptable amount of sleep, and pulling that all-nighter with Pidge hadn't exactly helped the cause. 

The lack of rest seems to be taking its toll now, as Hunk slumps into his chair, which is pressed up close against the tabletop. He remains, with his dark eyes glazed over, in a state of stupor sparked by tiredness alone. A low groan accompanies the nodding of his head as it falls forward, slowly. 

His eyes close, but not even two seconds later there's a sharp knock upon the large, metal doors, and then they slide open. Hunk jumps up at the sound, and turns around in his seat, expecting to see Lance asking about how his gun's doing. He rubs at his eyes, and yawns, and attempts to make himself sound as awake as possible. "Hey, I just—" 

He stops himself, and blinks a few times, because the person at the door _isn't_ Lance. 

It's Keith. 

The whole situation almost makes Hunk want to laugh (in both an unbelieving and snarky way), but instead he just smiles warmly. He can practically _feel_ his cheeks growing hotter, darker. He tells himself it's because the hangar is stuffy. 

"You've been holed up in here for a pretty long time," Keith says, though his tone doesn't scream 'concern', but more like what he's said is a common fact. 

Hunk stands up, drawing out the action, and stretches just a bit. On one hand, he's grateful to have someone notice his hard work, but on the other, he _really_ just wants to sleep for a bit. "Yeah, I have. But I'm kinda _supposed_ to be." He does some lazy gestures, pointing to machinery around the hangar and then back to the spread on his worktable. "There's, ah— A lot to be done, I guess you could say..." 

His voice drifts off into yet another yawn. But he continues rambling, "The problem isn't that everything's _difficult_ — Just, very time-consuming." He taps his fingers together and shifts his gaze downwards. 

Keith gives what appears to be a nod of understanding, and takes a few steps closer. "Here—" He offers up a cup to Hunk, which he'd been holding the whole time, but Hunk had been too exhausted to even notice. A confused look appears across Hunk's features, so Keith quickly explains, "Coran says it has a similar chemical to caffeine in it— It's like the _coffee_ you love so much." 

"— _Oh_ ," Hunk says, grabbing the small cup of a mauve-colored liquid and taking a whiff of the scent. It smells like it's just as bitter as coffee, yet somehow it's _sweeter_ to him, and with a hint of spice. He gives a tiny, knowing smirk that just barely pulls the corners of his lips up. "Thanks, Keith." 

"No problem; just returning the favor," he says, cooly. "I figured you needed it— When I saw you in the bridge earlier, you looked pretty _terrible_ —" Keith starts, moving over to the table and leaning on it, just as Hunk brings the cup to his lips, raising an eyebrow and then scowling deeply. Keith's eyes widen for a split second, and then he adds, "You know, no offense or anything." 

"— _Thanks_ ," Hunk repeats, when he finishes up his drink, in a considerably more dry and snappy tone than the first genuine time. He clinks the cup back upon his work desk. "Yeah, definitely no offense taken at _all_ —" The sarcasm still clearly drips in his voice as he rolls his eyes. 

"Sorry, but you really _do_ look like you need some rest." Keith, his arms crossed, shrugs. "Don't overwork yourself so much. We need you to fight Zarkon; you can't do that if you're tired." 

" _Well_ , I was kind of _trying_ to sleep before you weaseled your way in here— And, anyways, how do you expect me to _rest_ if you came in here with alien coffee that's laced heavily with caffeine? That seems counterintuitive." 

Keith groans, and Hunk falls back into his chair, laying his head down on the tabletop. "I— You said you were a coffee person and I didn't— I didn't think it through, okay. Really didn't even think I'd make it this far, honestly. You're being so damn grumpy—" 

"—Part of that is frustration," Hunk interjects, in a muffled voice. He hugs his shoulders tightly and pulls his arms in closer. "I'm sick of having to _survive_ — I just wanna _live_ for once, Keith." 

For a moment, Keith remains silent, pondering his words — the war against the Galra was evidently pushing everyone to their respective limits. Keith opens his mouth, but suddenly Hunk sits up and speaks, "I'm being a little too harsh— I appreciate you stopping by, you know. But I'll be honest, I don't think I'm gonna be able to fall asleep after what you just gave me. Now I'm so tired that I'm hyper—" 

"— _Hunk_." For some reason, Keith is smiling a tiny smile, maybe moreso for himself than anyone else. Hunk detects a hint of pain in the way his lips pull up at the corners. "I understand. I'll leave you be." The smile fades a moment too soon, right before he quickly turns around, in the direction of the exit. 

He steps, and continues walking, and Hunk wants to reach out, or call at him to stay, but his feet are glued in place and his throat is dry. His lips don't move, and his lungs feel like they're full of cement. He doesn't extend his arm, or even say goodbye. 

The wide steel doors slide closed as Hunk sees Keith press a button on the control panel on the other side. 

There's a pang of regret from somewhere in the depths of Hunk's stomach, but he just barely pushes it aside in favor of continuing his work. 

Paradise seems lost. 

**+**

Hunk isn't sure what to make of his predicament. 

Mostly, he's conflicted about it. 

His interactions with Keith had been _minimal_ in the week following; it wasn't like he was avoiding him, but he hadn't been actively seeking him out to talk. They'd spar during training, exchange compliments, then switch partners. They'd pass each other occasionally in the long corridors, or meet up accidentally in the common room, but those situations were handled with only a nod and brief glance in each other's eyes. They usually never talked much before, anyways, so it didn't feel all too strange. 

At first, Hunk thinks he's reading too much into it; maybe Keith didn't like him that way, and he was just trying to be a better teammate. Maybe his affections weren't being reciprocated, and Keith _was_ only returning the favor. 

Maybe it was those things, and not the hopeful dreams he'd had of Keith actually liking him back. 

Hunk sighs, very heavily, because these thoughts have been swirling around his mind for the past few days. Even as he lumbers through the hallway, having come from his room, he just can't help but have his brain wander to the worst possible situation. 

He's got no clear destination as of now; it's late in the evening, at a time when afternoon training exercises were completed hours earlier and dinner had already been served. No one is around for him to bump into — he considers that to be a good thing, because he doesn't want to run the risk of another confrontation with Keith. 

Not yet, at least. 

Hunk's footfall only resonates quietly throughout the stretch of walls and doors. Eventually, he passes what he knows to be Keith's room, and he physically stops. A shiver runs up his spine, and he turns, arm reaching out to knock on the metal — but he recoils, suddenly, and grimaces while shaking his head. 

Had he perhaps been too rough before? He'd already been in a comparatively bad mood when Keith had interrupted his work — but had that really warranted all the bitterness? 

Hunk quickly decides that there's nothing that can be done about it now; he turns on his heel and continues walking straight forward. 

The room immediately after Keith's is Lance's quarters. By now, he already knows that by heart — he can't count how many times he's already visited him in the middle of the night or early in the morning, begging for a talk or to just _do something_ together. 

He's almost past the door when it slides open, and Hunk, fairly startled, gasps and twirls around to face Lance, who's in the center of the doorway, a robe clinging to body and a white face mask covering his forehead, cheeks, and chin. 

Any other person would call it mere coincidence, but Hunk liked to think it was the complex inner workings of fate. 

A smile that looks almost too big to be truly sincere appears on Lance's face after he gives a small chuckle. "Hey, dude." He takes a step over the threshold, and lays a palm on Hunk's shoulder. Hunk is nervously grinning back, his lips quivering and faltering; he looks really on edge, and it isn't as if Lance doesn't notice. "It's kinda late, isn't it—" 

"—Yeah, uh-huh, that's why I was— _I'm heading back to my room_ —" There is a pause, in which Lance raises an eyebrow and Hunk darts his pupils from left to right continuously. "Why are you still even awake, anyways?" 

Lance seems to consider this, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I was about to lie down, but I _heard_ you walking, Hunk," he quips, leaning on his arm against Hunk's bicep. Hunk feels like that's a lie, mostly because of the way his irises flicker upwards; he doesn't bring it up, though. "So what's up, big guy?" Lance asks, giving Hunk's belly two gentle pats, effectively making Hunk blush a hard crimson. 

He pushes Lance off his body. "It's— Um, it's nothing, really. Just strolling around the castle, you know—" 

"—At night?" 

" _Yes_ , it's actually really _calming_ for me, Lance. Stop judging." 

"Oh, _come on_ — I'm not buying that shit, Hunk. Not tonight. You're gonna spill _everything_." Before Hunk can respond, Lance pulls him by the collar of his vest and drags him into his room, with the door shutting behind them. 

Lance then grabs both Hunk's hands and tugs him to the bed, where Lance is the first to take a seat. "So tell me, dude— Tell me what you're thinkin' about right now." 

Hunk gives a dissatisfied look as he sits down reluctantly. "Meh— I'm not sure if I really wanna. I mean, it's _not_ that big of a deal—" 

"— _Bullshit_ , Hunk, I'm calling bullshit right now." Lance jabs a finger into Hunk's chest as he leans forward, closer, in a crouching position atop the bed. "I can tell you've been _off_ this week. I can _always_ tell— So don't lie to me." 

"You sound like my mom," Hunk sighs, and looks away. " _Why_ do I have the feeling you already _know_ what's been going on?" He leans back against the wall, which is just above the pillow. Lance sits criss-cross now, and his facial expression turns curious. "Ehh? You _don't_ know, do you? I mean— I guess we have been keeping the whole thing on the down low—" 

"—' _We_ '?" Lance looks a little bit betrayed as he narrows his eyes, jumping forward and putting his hands on either side of Hunk's hips, locking him in for inevitable confrontation. "Who else is—" 

"—It's just— Well," Hunk scratches the back of his neck and cringes. "Some _things_ happened earlier this week, and..." 

"And?" 

"And I think Keith sort of hates me. Also, I think I sort of _like_ him." Lance has an unbelieving look on his face. Hunk's cheeks flush. "I mean— Uh, I _know_ I like him, and I thought maybe, you know, he'd feel the same way about me— But now I'm just... Not so sure?" He says it as if it didn't matter, when, in fact, it was a pretty big deal. 

" _Holy shit_ ," Lance says, shaking his head. His jaw is dropped a significant amount. "And you didn't think to _tell_ me about any of this?" 

Hunk squints at him. "Well, I— I was still trying to figure out if I actually _did_ like him as more than a friend. Thought you'd understand if it took a bit of time." Lance nods. 

"I mean, I don't really get why you'd like _Keith_ of all people— Personally, I don't see how he has any redeeming qualities," he scoffs, and Hunk rolls his eyes. "So, what? It's 'complicated' between you two now?" He puts air quotes around the word "complicated" for more dramatic effect, and then crosses his arms. 

"Not necessarily? I don't really _think_ so, heheh... It's just that we started to talk a lot and then we— Just _didn't_. It's _weird_." 

Lance looks suspicious and honestly pretty skeptical. "'Weird' is an understatement. This whole situation is apples and bananas— What _happened_ , though? Like— I don't think you're tellin' me the entire story here." 

"Ah, it's just— It's only—" Lance raises an eyebrow sharply, and Hunk leans back into the wall. "I just helped him with something, he helped me with something else in return, and then he just... left the room." He shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah, it sounds kinda minor, but— I don't know what to think of it. We haven't really talked since then; well, talked _seriously_ since then." 

Lance gives a half-hearted shrug. "You're probably just misunderstanding it, dude." 

"What?" 

"I mean, he probably just didn't know what else to say. Decided to leave before he got pissed." 

"...I guess I _was_ being a little obnoxiously rude—" 

"—Then that means he was getting mixed signals. Or something like that." Lance stands up and stretches, giving a yawn. "Sounds to me like you should go talk to him about it." Those words are the one sentence Hunk dreaded hearing the most; he groans, maybe out of spite, and rises to his feet as well. 

"Tell me something I _don't_ know." 

Lance's lips form a pout. "Hey, buddy, _you're_ the one who's gotta fix this mess, not me. I'm just laying down the facts for you straight up." He yawns again, reaching for his headphones, which had been propped up atop a small dresser near the door. "So go fix it, okay... I need my beauty sleep now, Hunk." 

"I had a feeling you were gonna say that," Hunk retorts, in a defeated tone, as he grumbles one more time. Lance's 'advice' had sealed the deal. Lance slings an arm around Hunk's shoulders and squeezes reassuringly; he flops onto the bed shortly thereafter and winks before flicking on his sleeping mask. 

"Go get 'em, tiger." 

Hunk flashes a grin, for an instant, and exits. 

**+**

Keith keeps wondering if he made the best decision. 

He feels as though he acted rashly, prematurely leaving Hunk's presence simply because he just _had_ to get out of there — the wistful lust he'd had had been completely overwhelming. Remembering what had transpired only made those feelings come back even stronger. 

Suddenly, he finds himself _angry_ — regret forms deep in the darkest corners of Keith's mind, plaguing him with insecurity upon insecurity. Looking back on it, what he'd done had been hasty and a little on the impulsive side: two adjectives he was unfortunately prone to. 

Keith slams his face into his pillow and groans in self-pity, because he wishes he could just go back and redo that day. "I'm an idiot," he murmurs into the fabric, shutting his eyes if only for the sake of clearing his head. He rubs at his temples. "Can't _believe_ that I—" 

—Someone creaks past his room in the hall; his ears — even with his acute hearing — barely register the sound of those familiar footsteps. Keith sits up, wearily, his heart beating, and paws at his eyes. The footsteps stop when they're the loudest — right at the entrance to his quarters. He holds his breath for what feels like five minutes, but is actually only thirty seconds. 

Whoever's outside continues walking. 

Keith lets out the breath in a low huff, but he still finds himself silently moving closer to the door. 

Somewhere down the hallway, but still a near enough distance, a door slides open, and that's when the voices start. 

He can't miss the first voice, muffled behind the walls; Keith presses his ear against his door. 

Of course it's Lance. 

Keith can always recognize his voice. 

He gives an annoyed look. 

The second voice is deeper, warmer... Keith seethes with a sort of jealously, because that's _Hunk_ that Lance is talking to so late at night. _Lance_ that is comforting Hunk, when Keith wishes so badly it could be _him_ instead. 

He bites the inside of his left cheek, and listens harder, but nothing helps. Keith punches his fist into the door, and quickly maneuvers to the wall opposite his bed. Lance's room lies on the other side, separated by layers of thick metal. The muffling is easily heard, but clear, crisp words still escape his ears. 

He's beyond frustrated. 

But, after ten long, agonizing minutes, the doors slide open and then closed again, and Keith perks up. The footfall starts up again, becoming more pronounced as they come back the way they came. 

He stands up, almost in an awestruck daze, and reaches for the control panel. The button's pressed down, the double metal doors part ways, and Keith steps out. 

Hunk is about a foot to the right of the door, his fingers tracing along the cold, steel walls. He doesn't seem to register the noise, or, if he does, he doesn't acknowledge it. 

"Hunk—?" Keith says, quietly, and Hunk jumps back at the sudden noise once he whips around to face Keith. 

Keith's hand flies to Hunk's mouth, muffling the sounds of surprise that had just started to come out. Hunk's eyes are wide, but he doesn't shake his hand off. Initially, his dark brows had been raised as he flinched back, but now they rested in a furrowed scowl of annoyance. " _Shh_ , Hunk... I need to talk with you _now_." 

"You couldn't wait until tomorrow morning or something?" Hunk whisper-shouts back, crossing his arms. Keith leans onto his closed door. "Or maybe, like, literally _any other_ day this week?" 

Keith turns his head, looking away with a blank expression on his face. "I-I was hoping you'd come to me first." He looks embarrassed by this admission, but Hunk simply snorts and puts his hands on his hips. 

It's clear by now that Hunk really _doesn't_ want to talk. At least, not until he can collect his thoughts. "Yeah, _sure_ , I'd _totally_ come to you when I thought you wanted _nothing to do with me_." The familiar sarcasm is back in his voice, along with the frustration that had been present on that day so long ago. 

Keith scowls. His octave rises higher, "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. I didn't mean to come off that way, I wanted to let you work in peace, and—" He lets out a growl. "I get it, okay, we're all angry and tired here, and... But you don't gotta— You—" Keith's at a loss, for once, because he can't scold Hunk for being a hothead when _he himself_ is known to be the biggest one on the team. 

He digresses. "Just— Give me a chance to explain, at least. _I_ thought _you_ wanted nothing to do with _me_ —" 

"—Wait, seriously? You're not— You're not joking, right—?" Hunk stops there, because he can only remember Keith joking _once_ in the short time that he's known him. "Does that mean—" 

"—Umm, yeah, I—" Keith isn't exactly sure how to force the right words out. He clenches his fists, then lifts his head up and looks Hunk dead in the eyes. His voice is louder, now, with more conviction, "—I want you to know that I love you. You know, like, I want to...be with you." 

Hunk's pupils contract so they're half their regular size, and he blinks, recovering from the bomb that had just been dropped. He looks to Keith, whose entire face is tomato red, and he can clearly see that the statement is whole-heartedly genuine in its intentions. And he smiles like a madman. "That's good. I really really _really_ wanted you to say that, you know. I mean, at first I didn't think it was possible, even, and I didn't wanna make everything _awkward_ —" 

He's interrupted by Keith placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. 

A crooked half-smile forms on Keith's lips. "So... I take it that cleared everything up for you?" 

Hunk hums, "You could say that." He chuckles, blushing slightly. "I wish you would've told me earlier— Could've saved a whole lot of trouble." 

"You could've, too," Keith blurts, tapping his booted foot against the floor. 

To Keith's dismay, a tiny frown pulls Hunk's lips down. "Yeah, maybe— But I was thinking about all of this. Thinkin' about how us being together could mess up the whole 'Team Voltron' thing. I've been calculating all the risks and—" Keith gives him a sour look. 

Admittedly, that's a thought that hasn't been completely absent from Keith's mind — the possibility that one of them could die, and the other would become too grief-stricken to fight; the sickening thought that if things ended badly between them, their little 'team' would no longer get along so well anymore, and Voltron could never be formed again. "I don't care about any of that." 

The bright sconces dotting the walls have begun to dim now; the teal light they give off grows lower for every minute that passes. Hunk shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He averts his gaze from Keith, and onto the floor. "Do you _really_ wanna do this, Keith? Even with everything at stake? Tell me the truth—" 

He's silent for two, long moments in which he's sure Hunk will just flat-out leave. He doesn't, leaving Keith time to word his answer accordingly. "...We'll make it work. What's the harm in trying?" Keith only feels a little bit flustered and frazzled when he steps forward first, clenching his teeth and gripping Hunk's biceps with a warmth to his cheeks; he leans closer, up on his tip-toes, and pushes himself into Hunk. 

Their bodies press, and Hunk is momentarily shocked. The feeling passes, replaced by heat. Keith's arms come to wrap around his upper body, until Hunk slips his arms out and pulls him into a deeper embrace, engulfing his entire frame. 

Hunk buries his face deep within the crook of Keith's shoulder blade, nuzzling his nose into his hair and breathing in deeply. "Heh. You're not so bad, Keith."

**Author's Note:**

> I liked how this was turning out until the last three parts ended up being a flaming pile of trash. 
> 
> Remember to kudos/comment/etc! All are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> ⁺✧. [follow my tumblr!](http://usabuns.tumblr.com) *:･ﾟ✧


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